August 15, 2009
Sherry Lucille
TNT Lead Blogger & Author, Love Changes
Facebook Reflections.
I recently asked a young person, who I am close to, what she did
when her family members requested her as a Friend on Facebook and
she calmly said, “I block them.” And I thought, “It’s not personal.”
You see she had no desire to make friends out of her adult, and yes,
sometimes over-the-hill, cousins, parents, aunts and uncles. She
just wanted to friends with her peers.
I recently embarked upon the Facebook venture myself. I asked my
younger sister if she was on. She said, and I quote, “I have no
desire to get in touch with old high school friends or people I used
to know. Like the dinosaur, their time has passed.”
I have to say this very subject was one of the reasons I was
hesitant about being on Facebook. I dreaded the idea of “sitting on
my throne” and turning people down: no, I don’t want to be your
friend. But like my daughter I had to say to myself, “It’s not
personal.” Though it is…a little.
It’s not that I don’t like all of the people who want to “friend me”
it’s just that with some “that time has passed” and for others I
don’t think it’s a good idea that it ever be and for some it just
seems weird. I know lots of young people, some because of my work
and some because of my volunteer activities. I care deeply about
them but it feels strange to have them be privy to my “private”
life, such as it is on the internet.
Anyway, I hope to have a fan page for my novel, Love Changes, soon.
That way anyone who has read my book and wants to keep up with me in
that way can. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not short on love just a
little short on my willingness to fully immerse myself in technology
for technology’s sake that’s all.
In the words of one of my wise cousins: make it work for you, not on
you; and in the words of that wise old writer: to thine on self be
true.
Good advice for Facebook and anything else you do in life.
2009 Blog Archive
April 1, 2009
Sherry Lucille
TNT Lead Blogger & Author, Love Changes
Legacy.
April is the month of my birth so I thought I’d celebrate by
writing something about the woman who gave me birth, my lovely
mother Mabel Gaines. First, I want to tell you that writing didn’t
just come out of the air for me. My mother wanted to publish her
life story. She started writing it before she died. Below is an
excerpt from what she wrote.
The commissary was attached to the rear of the Big-House, Miss
Annie’s house. Rations were handed out on Saturday at noon. I never
met Miss Annie but I can see her as plain-as-day from my mother’s
stories.
My mother said Miss Annie was beautiful and that meant she was. Her
hair hung in rivulets over her slim shoulders and she wore delicate
frilly dresses of the most vivid violets and pinks. My mother said
you could smell her from a mile away, her perfume the scent of wild
orchards and lilac.
A representative from all of the working families assembled at the
rear of Miss Annie’s house waiting, watching, sitting, standing,
sweating while Miss Annie like a pampered kitten strolled aimlessly
across her kitchen floor, one step forward, two steps back, another
step forward and three in the other direction.
Through the large windows and door you could see her sit and take a
sip of tea or eat a late breakfast. From time to time, she would
even vanish to take another bath and change into another one of her
elegant dresses, all of this while grown men and women, all colored,
all wilted and withered in the noontime heat under blazing sun
waited.
Many Saturdays more than an hour would pass before Miss Annie
emerged from the back door with a hankie dangling from her smooth
hand, wearing her finest and smelling like a barrel of her favorite
fragrance.
She finally came, painfully slow, out of her kitchen door, across
her whitewashed porch and down her wooden steps, kept in repair by
those with carpentry skills needing extra money or looking to curry
a little favor.
Grown men and women stood to their feet as she passed. It didn’t
matter how tiered they were or how long she had kept them waiting,
each gave a little bow and proclaimed in a loud voice, good
afternoon Miss Annie. All except one proud exquisitely lovely ebony
bronzed women who neither spoke properly nor stood. That woman was
Lily Hill, my mother.
The above excerpt is a little from my mother’s story. In this part
she tells us about my Grandmother, Lily Hill’s pride. You see my
grandmother bowed for no man or woman. I love her though I never met
her. From my mother’s stories, I felt both love and respect.
You see writing is a legacy in my family. What is your family’s
legacy? There are things in you that are wonderful, extraordinary
and full of light. Find them and start to let them open the doors to
your future.
March 1, 2009
Mabel Gaines’ Eyes.
I have a picture of my mother and my daughter (when she was a
baby) on the refrigerator. It’s strange how much elders and babies
look alike. My mother’s eyes as wise as my daughter’s inquisitive.
My mother’s eyes knowing where she’s been and how she got there. My
daughter’s eyes full of curiosity wondering if she can run fast
enough to keep up with her dreams.
I look at that picture and I see both my past and my future. All
that my mother wanted to be and all that my daughter is going to be;
all and each a distinct and congruent part of me.
I see life through their eyes: the struggles of Jim Crow, cotton
picking, desegregation and
civil rights. I see life through their eyes: the hope of a
college education, a two parent home and money for travel.
I see a hope spawned by a steady and strong belief in God. I see a
future and a past. I see hope overcoming sorrow. I see gifts and
strength for tomorrow. I see her. I see me.
Listen, Little Scholars, it’s never too early to start thinking
about your future and reflecting on your past. Get to know your
history, so you don’t repeat its mistakes and so that you benefit
from all of its successes.
February 1, 2009
Something terrific happened here! “I think America is the greatest country in the whole world and
I wouldn’t want to live anyplace else.” I’ve said this a hundred
times and heard it said a hundred times more. But the other day when
I was putting up a bulletin board, it took on new meaning for me.
My board was for Black History month—the one time of year, in my
world at least, where everyone stops to ponder and recognize the
contributions of people with “Black” African heritage on the
history, progress and benefit of the United States of America and
the world— I thought, what color background shall I use for this
board?
I know, a vibrant purple for our people’s impact, orange for our
earthiness, red, green and black for the African flag. No, I
concluded, Red, White and Blue for our country AND our new
president! How exciting to think that, how exciting to have it be
true!
Gone are the days of using black service men to test the effects of
syphilis, gone are the days of America questioning its commitment to
honoring its agreement with Native Americans concerning their tax
and land use contracts, right.
My 80 plus year old cousin/aunt can still reach back and touch
memories of family who were just out of slavery. Can she have seen
this day coming? America the great just got a little bit greater in
my view.
Not just because a Black man is president but because we, the
American people, have decided that our government is truly for the
people, by the people and of the people, all of the people.
Black history, American history: may they always be our history.
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